


mean the same lie twice

by meltedbutter (solarzenith)



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Half-Sibling Incest, Hand Jobs, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Self-Denial, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, could be slower, mentions of animal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 12:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarzenith/pseuds/meltedbutter
Summary: Arthur pardons Orm under the condition that he learn to appreciate land-life, or at least attempt to. Neither of them are prepared for what that requirement entails.





	mean the same lie twice

**Author's Note:**

> so this is something?? uh idk how I pulled 10k outta this shit but here we are. i'm slightly unfulfilled by a few scenes in this work, but i need it off my docs 'cause i'm sick of going over it. also almost didn't even want to write smut for them but idk who I am, so. despite that, i do love this piece so i hope you enjoy!!!

_“When you’re ready, let’s talk.”_

Orm had been running circles around Arthur's words since he'd been locked away a couple weeks ago, knowing they held a promise he didn't deserve. He wouldn’t seek it out, as he felt they had nothing more to explain to each other. Orm knew it all, he didn’t need to hear it a second time.

Orm would rather be stuck on his knees with a muzzle over his mouth than rehash things with his new King. Arthur was already too open for him to handle, too expressive and warm. Orm had willfully ignored it when Arthur had stepped into his space back in the Ring of Fire, spilling his burning heart on the floor with nothing given back.

Arthur wanted a brother; Orm had wanted a corpse.

Now, Orm drew into himself, shoulders coming up around his ears as his chest started to rattle. He'd give anything to have someone to turn to, after it all. His vision of war was tainted, knowing Arthur had flipped everyone's support and love in his favor. There was no one left willing to back him, and it tore him apart to know he’d lost everything in a day.

He needed it back; he’d drop whatever he had left to his name just to have that again, to have a life and people that cared about him. He thought he’d be searching for a while.

Instead of letting that condemnation crack his features, he let his mask shutter down as footsteps approached his cell. He tilted his head towards the ground as far as he could with his arms tied taut behind him, an attempt to hide in plain sight. He kept his gaze trained to the floor as the visitor stopped in front of his cell, a silent sentry unwilling to break their position of power above him.

That stifling submission quickly fizzled as Arthur's terribly smooth voice soothed his tense shoulders, “Look alive, little brother.”

He slowly, suspiciously, brought his eyes up to meet Arthur's own, which held nothing but careful consideration. Orm had expected resentment, maybe even smug pity, but he refused to neglect the relief soaking up his chest at the sight of his ever-forgiving king.

He couldn't speak through the liquid metal fit over his mouth, despite his need to defend himself with something other than a silent glare. Arthur motioned at the guard a second after he'd attempted to make conversation, likely assuming he might beg for his freedom and wanting to hear it. The guard flicked his wrist and the muzzle fell away, as if it was made of something more substantial than metal minerals.

Orm stretched and popped his jaw, ruefully smirking up at Arthur with his shields up, “Finally came to chat then, King?”

Arthur crossed his arms over his gold, Atlantean chest-plate as he carefully considered his response, “Depends, how bad do your knees hurt?”

Orm flexed his calves where they were bolted to the floor and caught something suspicious in the question and decided to dodge, “Well, as I'm not used to being victim to gravity, I'd say a fair amount.”

Arthur put on a charming grin as he shot back with, “Good, that’s great, because I’ve arranged a pardon for you, assuming you're willing to come to the surface with me.”

Now there was an intriguing concept. At this point, Orm had no destructive intent when it came to the land-dwellers and their habits, just objective disgust. Despite that, he would never willingly visit just to visit, and clearly Arthur knew that.

He squinted up at the man like that self-satisfied smile was blinding him, “And what's the catch?”

Arthur tilted his head and his hair drifted across shoulders in an innocent act, “You get a free pardon _and_ you get to see Earth in a new way, don't know how you can be skeptical.”

The intent of the circumstances clicked into place like rusted cogs as the specific wording of Arthur's statement got them turning, “It's not just a visit. You want me to experience it, right? Learn to love it? Maybe forget my distrust and hatred so that I'm no longer a threat?”

The king huffily squatted and leaned his forearms against the capsule wall as if Orm was being a petulant child, “I don't want you locked up, Orm, neither does Mom. If things don't go like I hope, then we call it off. Can you just try for me?”

Orm had to weigh the lesser of the two evils, and easily decided that something in Arthur made him want to be next to him, for whatever would come. Despite every lie he'd spit out before, being with Arthur was not such a bleak outlook. Being on the surface was not ideal, but it was also not too high a price to pay for a key to his shackles.

Orm nodded his assent, and Arthur lit up like an electric eel; Orm had never been this close to someone so charismatic, it felt like standing in the sunlight was supposed to.

Arthur quickly asked the guards to dismantle his chains and stepped away from the wall as they did so. Each cuff falling away was a nail struck into his coffin. He couldn't go back to being trapped like that; he'd have to give the surface every ounce of effort he could muster, no matter how difficult it may be.

He bounced up and stretched for the first time in a week as the capsule’s grounding mechanism switched off. He’d missed feeling weightless, only then realizing how suffocating and unnatural land-like containment would be.

The guard let down the capsule wall and Orm wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to jump out quick, but he so badly needed to stretch his legs. Arthur watched him like a caged animal, as if he could read his frantic, energized thoughts. That, or he was worried Orm would sack him the second he got the chance to. He wanted to say that his jumpy eyes were his flight instinct, not his fight instinct, but he figured that’s be obvious soon enough.

Before he could tempt himself to bolt out into the open water, the guard spoke to the king, “Do you need him cuffed, your highness?”

Arthur’s smirk turned wild as his eyes roamed over Orm’s jittery movements, “Now _that’s_ a fun idea.”

Orm was caught in that reverent gaze, the implication completely lost on him. That hot spot in the center of his abdomen was trying to translate it for him, but he couldn't manage to wrap his head around that twisted perspective. There was no way his gut could be right about that.

Before their stand off dragged on too long, Arthur laughed and shrugged the guard off, “I think I can handle him.”

Orm let a shiver run over his skin as he shook out his nerves, “You don’t need to _handle_ me, I’m not a threat to you.”

Arthur seemed to take that to heart, posture softening as it sank in. Orm meant it, and he needed Arthur to know he was in a completely different headspace now. He would adopt a new methodology: educate with words instead of fire. There was less loss that way, and he really needed something substantial to stick around.

The underlying implication of his statement seemed to reach Arthur still, setting off that protective alarm he kept, “I’m glad to hear that, but I need you not to be a threat to anyone else.”

Orm’s mouth twisted as he considered this demand of his king, “And if they are a threat to me?”

Arthur ran his fingers through the front of his mane, “Defense is a different animal. I have no reason to believe anyone will hurt you, but I’ll protect you. I would prefer you let me handle any potential conflicts.”

Orm drifted closer as their negotiation came to a close, “I won’t die for humanity’s sake, but I will allow you to lead the way.”

Arthur smiled, and Orm was lit up with it. The king leaned forward and gripped Orm by his flank, patting his side and pulling him out of the capsule with his grip. Arthur’s hand took up most of the space there, and his skin was starting to change shades with the way Arthur was so openly tactile. Orm squashed it as soon as it blossomed.

Arthur waved to the guards, “Okay, let’s go see the world, brother.”

-

Orm hid behind the safety cover of Arthur’s broad shoulders as they walked through the front door of the lighthouse. They’d gotten here far quicker than he would have hoped. He’d wanted to request about 6 more hours of open ocean before he was forced to feel his body weight again, but he knew that was not the intent of his pardon.

He still hadn’t quite wrangled the anxiety shredding his stomach by the time they’d hit the porch steps. He was sure his mother was going to be disappointed, no matter how heavily she blamed Orm’s father for his misguided actions. Orm was an adult, he made his own choices, and all he could do now was atone for it.

Orm shook his cluttered head empty as the front door flew open to greet them. Arthur stretched out his arms in gleeful invitation, picking up his small father in a back-breaking hug as the man in question sputtered his disapproval.

“Let me go, fish! You know better than to bring your soggy clothes in here!”

Orm looked down at his dripping wet-suit and slowly backtracked out of the threshold, suddenly unsure of his welcome. Arthur’s booming laugh caught him off guard, but not as much as the hand did that reached back and gripped him close before he could escape.

“C’mon pops, we’ve got a guest.”

The fingers wrapped around his wrist tugged him out into the limelight, and Orm had to keep his eyes downcast just to keep contained. Just as Arthur’s father went to introduce himself, Atlanna swerved around him to pick Orm up into a similar hug Arthur just dealt out.

He heard himself huff as his mother's secure warmth squeezed the cold out of his bones. Atlanna kissed his cheek and turned to Arthur to do the same, “I’ve missed you boys.”

Orm felt guilt turn his legs to rubber; he was the cause of his mother's grief. Her acceptance and patience with him was enough to quell his roiling stomach. He would never be able to express the gratitude he had for her incessant generosity. He didn’t deserve it, but he was damned sure going to earn it.

He knew she saw that too, because she squeezed his arm with a final smile as she motioned Tom back in his direction.

Arthur’s father took his second attempt at greeting him with a friendly grin, “Hello Orm, I’m glad I get to finally meet you. I’m Tom.”

Orm shook the man’s hand with a tight-lipped smile that he hoped exposed the amends he intended to make; he would do his best to pay up for what he’d done despite his queasy gut, “Good to meet you, Tom.”

Arthur looked thoroughly pleased at his discomfort, as if he deserved this remorseful barb wire wrapped around his heart. He knew he did, but he didn’t need to be told so.

The king did what he was good at and broke the tension with a slap against the back of Orm's shoulder, “Let's go get changed, then we can hit the town.”

Orm wrinkled his nose at the thought of wearing anything but Atlantean clothing, especially if it was not protective gear, but he figured this was just another part of culture he'd have to experience. He shot one final, apologetic glance toward the two watching them leave as he followed close behind his handler.

Arthur led the way up the stairs until they came to a T and went left to meet a dark blue bedroom. Arthur swerved through the doorway in a weird, secretive way that Orm was curious about until he went inside and was immediately enlightened. Arthur's room was catastrophic chaos.

Orm crossed his arms and surveyed the destruction, “You live like this?”

Arthur spun around and regarded his disgusted posture with mirth, “No, actually, this is just a spot I like to hit sometimes. I live on the road, baby.”

Orm ignored the hole that the pet name shot through his chest and kept on with his degrading interrogation, “So you abuse your father’s kindness, is what I’m hearing.”

Arthur huffed and started rummaging through one of the four piles of clothes in the corner of the room, “I do not, I just haven’t had time to clean up, okay?”

Orm closed his eyes and lifted his hands in mock surrender, “Sure, yeah, kings are busy, I know the spiel.”

An article of clothing smacked that attitude right off his face and Arthur giggled at his plight. He instinctively caught it before it fell to the floor and held it up for inspection. It was a black, thick shirt with a loose hood on it and a pocket on the front; there was no way it could be practical.

Arthur offered an explanation for the first as he tossed a second article of clothing his way, “That’s called a hoodie, and those are jeans. Wanna free-ball or are you more of a snug, cushy kinda guy?”

Orm caught the ‘jeans’ and asked plainly, “Free-ball?”

Arthur made his way to the other end of the room and started digging through a basket as he ignored the tone in Orm’s voice, “It’s when you don’t wear underwear. I’m just going to assume you’re a snug kinda guy. Lemme just find a pair.”

Orm was getting hit with a lot of information all at once. He ignored the processing of it in favor of stripping out of his suit and tossing it into one of the four piles he had to choose from. He wasn’t all that concerned with the organizational mistake he may have made, as there was no way to tell what pile held what. Arthur turned to him just as his suit wetly plopped on top of the left one and paused in his energetic shuffling.

The question sounded like air being ripped from Arthur’s lungs as Orm noticed his adjusted attention, “Jeez little bro, couldn't wait ‘til I was out of the room?”

Arthur was flustered, which was a brand new look on him. Orm hadn't seen his king so unsteady before now, and Orm had a budding interest in making him pink like that more often. Instead of pushing it too far too soon, Orm shrugged and fumbled with the hoodie until he found the best way to put it on.

Arthur tossed another garment his way just as Orm’s head roughly popped out of the (assumed) top of the garment. He had to be a sight to see, he was sure, with his ruffled white hair trapped under the hood topping off a completely bare lower half. He was lucky he didn’t get embarrassed too easily.

He pulled the underwear that had just smacked his middle on quickly just for the sake of civility and got comfortable in their containment. He pushed the hood off and flattened his grown-out hair down against his forehead. It was bound to fluff up when it dried, but he figured he looked more human with it messed up like that.

Arthur was still watching intently when Orm finally stopped fumbling with his outfit. Arthur’s golden chest-plate disappeared just as he took hold of Orm’s attention, undressing just as simply as he himself just had. Orm watched as Arthur turned away from him and let the bottom half of his armor split away. The expanse of his tattooed backside flexed as he leaned down to hop into a pair of jeans himself.

Orm was just staring like an bonehead when Arthur flipped his hair back and turned to look at him again. He could feel every pinprick of heat in the room as it started to expand and suffocate him. Orm was forced to turn away, to break the spell, before his own pink cheeks gave him up.

He heard a zip behind him as Arthur finished getting his jeans settled, and Orm mimicked the action as he finally pulled the things up.

Everything he was wearing was slightly too big on him, and they smelled enough like Arthur that he could distinguish the scent. He felt comfortable in a way he hadn’t expected to, especially in the hoodie. He flexed his fingers into the fabric wrapped around his hands as Arthur breezed by him in a t-shirt.

“Alright, let’s head out.”

Apparently, they were going to ignore the weird fog in the room. Orm thought that was probably a good idea.

-

Once again, Orm safely hid himself behind the mountain that was his king as they walked into the pub Arthur seemed to frequent often. He wrung his fingers together in the front pocket of his hoodie as a couple people yelled out to them in glee. He wasn’t quite used to sound being unfiltered in the open air and it felt like a smack taken at the back of his skull.

Arthur greeted them all in kind, but Orm silently wished they had gone somewhere more remote where they could blend in easily. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d interact with regular humans, and he didn’t think blowing up Arthur’s hometown reputation was the way he wanted to find out.

Arthur leaned back to where Orm was hidden behind him and whispered, “Don’t stress, they’re harmless. Stand straight and they’ll leave you alone.”

Orm nodded and pushed his shoulders back, unaware he’d cowered so heavily behind Arthur all morning. He was disgusted with his new instincts, never once before pulling away from the spotlight, but gave that up quickly as Arthur shot a genuine smile over his shoulder at him.

Arthur led him through the dense lobby and sat them in a small booth in the corner of the room, giving Orm an open view of the bar and the news channel running on the television. _What better way to learn about culture than the news_ , Arthur had muttered. Orm had a sneaking suspicion he was being sarcastic.

Since they were both bulky men, their bodies didn’t quite fit in their separate space on each side of the booth. Arthur’s legs were stretched out between his own, calves snugly settling against each other's. Orm felt the anxiety leak out of each spot Arthur came in contact with as he resisted the urge to pull away and curl into himself again. He had to smother that instinct soon, he needed to rebuild his pride if he was going to stand next to Arthur on the throne one day.

He was getting used to the unfiltered noise slowly, but steadily. Arthur was grounding, keeping up a constant low murmur of information as he read options off the menu. He just needed to focus on that, and their surroundings would fade quickly enough.

A woman broke their bubble as she suddenly approached their table with two overflowing mugs in her grip, “Well Curry, as usual, you get to drink for free.”

Arthur dipped his head and let his hair fall to cover his face in a bashful curtain. He tucked a strand behind his ear as he looked around at the men lifting their mugs in honor. He waved them off with a, “love you guys, thank you,” and started chugging away.

Orm similarly lifted the mug in front of him to his lips and quietly asked, “What’s all that about?”

Arthur looked pink again as he explained, “I freed a captive ship from Black Manta before all this king stuff. The town caught wind of it so now they buy me drinks to, um, repay me or... whatever. It’s a cultural thing.”

Orm hummed into his glass and took a sip, assuming the men had no way to know that Manta happened because of him and would take no offense in his partaking of their gift. His face immediately contorted in disgust as the bitter taste soaked over his tongue and gagged him. It was fucking vile.

He sputtered and spit as he asked, “What the hell is this nasty stuff? You _like_ this?”

Arthur clutched his chest as he laughed up at the ceiling. Orm watched the cords in his neck flex as the king worked himself into a fit over Orm’s misfortune. He bent over the table and giggled into his arm as he attempted to compose himself. Orm could just barely feel the small smile tugging at his own lips watching the genuine display of happiness.

Arthur looked up at him with lightning-bright green eyes, “Knew you’d hate it.”

Orm shook his head and pushed the glass towards Arthur as a gang of poorly-dressed men garishly approached their table. The soft yellow glow he’d been basking in suddenly evaporated as his fingers curled into fists and his fingernails dug into the sleeves of his hoodie.

Maybe he was wrong, maybe he couldn't handle humanity as easily as he imagined he could. Just the sheer inconsideration of these men pushed his buttons, with their mindless expectation for an audience with the king during his personal time. Humanity was so impolite.

His king didn't seem to mind the racket as he looked up with a gigawatt smile and greeted them all in turn. Orm was flustered, stuck between the urge to berate them for interrupting and the desire to learn from Arthur's inviting example. He was still tense, knuckles white and taut as he kept his eyes to the table. Arthur would call on him if he was invited to speak, otherwise he would stay hidden in the man's shadow just as easily.

One of the men towards the front of the group broke that hope in half as he slapped Arthur on the shoulder and asked, “Who’s this handsome fella, and, more importantly, can I take him off your hands?”

Panic barbed through his gut as the thought struck him. What if Arthur saw it fit to offer him up as repayment for the drinks? Quite an unequal trade, he thought, but he’d made worse bargains in his day as king. He hastily looked to Arthur with a pleading, desperate stare and all he got in return was a confused set of eyebrows.

Arthur seemed to pick up on his churning stomach unconsciously and pressed their legs together more firmly under the table, which effectively locked Orm into his seat. He wasn't going anywhere, with or without the patron asking his hand.

Arthur chuckled and shook the man's grip off his shoulder, “Get your own, Russ. This ‘fella’ is taken.”

Orms stomach was quickly twisting for a whole different reason. He didn't have a quiet second alone in his head to analyze it before the group laughed and apologized for interrupting their ‘date’, leaving just as noisily as they had come.

Arthur wouldn't meet his searching eyes until every patron in the bar had averted their attention from them. Orm made his confusion clear with a slight tilt of his head, and Arthur still refused to speak up.

Orm broke the silence for him, unwilling to let it fester any longer, “Why did you lie about me?”

Arthur dug his fingers into the back of his neck as he huffily spoke to the table, “I just- you're too white, they wouldn't believe me anyway.”

Orm trampled over the likelihood of that within seconds, “I'm sure that's not a telling factor-”

Arthur dropped his open palm onto the table, “Okay sure, maybe not, but what else was I supposed to say? No, actually, this is my half-brother you've never met before because he lives in the ocean.”

Arthur reigned back to peer around the bar for onlookers before he continued, “I would rather say I got dumped than make an elaborate lie about my family. Everyone knows everyone here, it's not worth it.”

Orm nodded and accepted the answer, despite the purple confusion fogging his skull, but apparently Arthur wasn't finished.

“And anyway, you were never razzed about being related to me, so I figured I'd save you the hassle of putting on a show.”

Before he had a chance to dispute that claim, the volume on the news got cranked up almost implicitly for Arthur's sake. His king’s shoulders went back as his spine straightened out, a protective tactic not quite as eye-catching as golden scales plating his body.

Orm watched Arthur keep his eyes trained on the tabletop as the newscaster spoke, “The blue shark, a highly sought after species, has recently become reclassified as endangered due to an uptick in localized fining practices…”

Orm watched the storm roll over Arthur's expression as the news reel continued to play. Not many patrons seemed to notice the effect it had, since talking to animals wasn't a broadcasted skill of Aquaman's, but Orm saw it. Orm saw it, and felt the instinct to cower before it. He also had to tamp down the impulse to reach across the table and settle Arthur's shaking hands between his own.

Arthur grunted and stood from the booth, “I've got some business to take care of.”

Orm stood right behind him, unwavering, “I'll come with you.”

Arthur paused and turned to him, which left them with just an inch of space between each other, “You can't hurt them. Only I can.”

Orm held his gaze, “I'm going for you, not them.”

Arthur didn't seem to understand why he would need him there, but Orm knew Arthur would regret taking things too far, just like he had when he made an enemy of Black Manta.

Arthur pushed aside his chagrin and led them out of the bar towards the seascape. They hit the bank and Arthur pulled off his t-shirt before diving in. Orm thought the more protection the better, and left his hoodie safely on as he followed behind Arthur as close as possible through the agitated waves.

He was unaware of how Arthur knew where to find the finners, but decided to keep silent in his ignorance. For the first time in a while, he had full faith in someone other than himself. After every single person in his inner circle had betrayed him, no matter the cause, he was surprised he still had the capacity to trust enough to go in blind. Every one of them had picked Arthur over him, in the end, and maybe now he could see why.

Arthur snapped him from his knotted thoughts as he suddenly banked right and rocketed forward. Orm wasn't far behind, but the quick path change had to make him wonder what Arthur had caught on to. When he turned to look, his vision was clouded with blood-filled waters. Arthur didn't even stumble, just darted through the red fog and shot straight up onto the deck of the boat above.

Orm did stutter, caught on the up-close and personal picture of lifeless, finless shark bodies sinking to the bottom of the ocean while the runner-ups flailed on the lines they were hooked on. His chest felt ran through, the pain of the sea clogging his lungs. He coughed it out and forced himself to keep up.

He quickly caught up to the king as he realized the sick feeling in his gut had to be shredding through Arthur tenfold.

He shot up out of the water and landed on the deck as the sound of begging, blubbering fishermen filled his ears. He agitatedly grinded his teeth together at the rotten sound, but kept his eyes closed as Arthur spoke to the men.

“Can you hear them? They sound like you.”

Orm's stomach dropped, realization glitching into his headspace. Arthur really could hear them, every single one, every single helpless howl. He wanted to cut the lines, just to relieve his king of that heartache, but figured Arthur would do it himself when he got the chance.

The sound of Arthur's pained growl sunk his soul, “Fuck, I want you all dead. If you could hear them, you would know you deserve it.”

The men he had held against the edge of the boat pleaded for mercy as Arthur continued to press them farther into the wood. He snapped one of the fishing rods in half and pegged it between two of the five men as a warning shot. The silence rang across the red water like a flood.

Arthur turned to him then, all teeth, “Watch them for me, will you?”

Orm nodded dumbly as Arthur bolted into the water to do just as Orm had expected. Each line went slack as the weight on them was released, and Arthur made sure to rip the fishnet on the other side of the boat to pieces. Orm watched the men cower, slightly disgruntled that he had no job to fulfill as each of the fishermen were frozen in fear, likely assuming Arthur was going to sink the ship next.

Arthur almost managed to do just that as he landed heavily back on the deck with murder in his eyes and his skin stained red. Orm took that as his signal to reign the king in. He swiftly moved forward and wrapped a hand over Arthur's inked bicep and tugging him tactfully, just to make him pause.

When Arthur looked back at him over his shoulder, it was with wet, dead eyes. The sight alone almost made Orm flinch away like he'd been burnt.

Instead, he moved his grip down to the king's forearm and clamped on, “Get a hold of yourself, Arthur. Don't let it be like last time.”

Arthur lightly shook his head, eyes closed tight like he could hide from the noise, “This is different, the victims were helpless, these… these _cowards_ just ripped them apart and let them nose-dive, I can't just-”

Orm dipped his head and let the tips of his dripping hair fall in his eyes, “Trust me, I know. You know I've felt this, this exact hole in my heart. I know. But I know you, too, and you don’t want to do this.”

That struck something like gold as Arthur pulled his head from the fog. Arthur slowly nodded and turned his back on the fishermen as he gave his attention fully to Orm, shoulders coming up around them and bubbling them in something soft blue.

Orm let that light guide him out of the red saturating his vision, “You don't have to do anything, you can let the sea deal it's own justice. Either way, you saved those you could. This doesn't have to be your call.”

Arthur looked up at him through his eyebrows and nodded, understanding his implication. The decision was made then, as Arthur's hand cradled the side of his head in silent gratitude.

Arthur barely muttered through the gaps in his clenched teeth, “I trust you.”

Orm reveled in that, let his chest swell with it. He closed his eyes as it threatened to consume him until Arthur’s damp forehead met his, calming.

A second later, Arthur was in the water, heading for the lighthouse. Orm took the swell in his chest and turned it into molten lava as he turned his gaze onto the onlooking fishermen.

“The king of Atlantis is forgiving. Unfortunately for you, I am not.”

Their screams separated around him in a oncoming wave he had to part. He lifted his arms toward the sky as the water followed close behind, capsizing the ship within seconds. The roaring ocean waterlogged each gasping plead for compassion. He brought the wave down heavy over the wreckage, ensuring the ship was demolished and unrecognizable. He wanted to squeeze the air out of each throat personally, but decided to let the saltwater surpass him.

His swim back to the lighthouse was muted by the static running through his head. His vision was equally compromised as the view of his tearful king projected on repeat across the backdrop of blue. He was stuck in a loop, unable to skip over the burn in his stomach.

When he reached the lighthouse, he caught sight of Arthur sullenly watching over the ocean from his post on the balcony. Orm could picture the heavy white-gold crown weighing down his king’s head, exhausting to uphold and impossible to take off.

Orm didn't feel like meddling with the stairs, so he bolted straight from the water up to the second story, landing behind Arthur on the terrace just this side of gracefully.

Arthur didn't move, didn't even turn to look at him when he asked, “What'd you decide?”

Orm shook out his damp clothes as he went to lean by him on the railing in an attempt to lift a little weight from his shoulders, “Don't ask questions you don't want answers to.”

Arthur let his head fall forward as his body bent even farther into itself. Orm acted on impulse and wrapped his fingers around the wrist closest to him in a feeble attempt at comfort. The effect was immediate, a lightning strike on the ground between them.

Arthur ran with it, twisting around and backing him up against the wall as he spoke, “I can still hear them, I can't stop hearing them.”

His face was contorted as if he was in physical pain, and the wetness in his eyes finally spilled over as Orm's back hit the paneling. Orm's fingers flexed in and out of fists as Arthur crowded against him, heat pouring off him in waves.

He spoke again, voice drenched, “I don't want to hear it anymore, please…”

Orm was trapped as he lightly whispered, “They didn't deserve your restraint. You're too good for them.”

The small space they'd made suddenly got heavy as Arthur's sodden breathing started to even out, as if he was calming himself back down. Orm looked up from Arthur’s stuttering chest just to get caught in something much more dangerous.

This close, Orm could see the gold in his king's eyes. He wondered how close was too close, and how far he could push it.

Arthur snapped the line first, hands coming up to support Orm's tense jaw, thumbs pressing into the dips between his teeth. Time tripped over itself as a few things blew up all at once.

Orm closed his eyes, Arthur's fingers dug in, and suddenly the man was a foot away, panicked.

Arthur paced as he ran his fingers through his hair anxiously, muttering to himself, “Shit, I'm sorry- I’m...”

His voice dipped just under the edge of too quiet and Orm had to ask, “Why are you sorry?”

Arthur's wild eyes shot up and got stuck analyzing him, “Why? What… Because you're my brother? Why else?”

Orm's confusion fizzled out as something else settled in his gut, something dark and consuming. He suddenly realized he hadn't thought of Arthur as his brother even once until this point. It was Arthur, or King, and nothing else. Arthur had this barrier, this compulsion to ignore the string tying them together, because of that word. He understood the conviction there, he did, but he had to wonder if it was worth splitting them apart over it.

Arthur had wanted a brother, and now Orm was right there with him. Arthur finally got one, and it was burning him up inside.

Arthur cut through his tripping consciousness, “I'm supposed to be your big brother, your protector. I know you don't want me to be, but I am. Fuck, I pardoned you for it, too. Just to look after you. Jesus Christ.”

Orm stepped forward, just to break the circle Arthur was branding into the floor as he paced, but the second he moved Arthur bolted, right back into the water.

Orm could follow him, easily, but he had the common sense to let Arthur absolve himself alone.

He didn’t feel the same hesitation Arthur was working himself into a fit over. If he wanted something, he wasn't going to let anything get in the way. Arthur was a good man, and those upstanding morals were the reason he was king. Orm couldn’t change him, didn’t want to change him, he couldn’t help him through this. Arthur was in control, and only he could push them forward.

He had to say he was surprised that Arthur felt the same pull as him, despite everything between them. Back when he had Arthur begging at his feet in chains, never in his wildest dreams would Arthur give his affection back.

He wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

He kept his head clear as he made his way down the stairs and into the house, his mother meeting him at the door as if she'd been waiting there since they'd left, “Hi, honey! How's humanity treating you?”

Orm followed Atlanna into the kitchen where she was preparing dinner with Tom as he responded, “We capsized a group of shark finners, so probably good?”

She had a weird conflicted expression at that declaration, but let it fade as she looked towards the front door, “Where is Arthur, anyway?”

Orm felt the desperation and need in his chest expand as she prodded a sore spot. He shrugged noncommittally, mask securely in place, “He's wading around here somewhere, just took a few minutes to himself, should be back soon.”

 

Arthur took longer than 'soon’, Orm thought idly with his back against the headboard in Arthur's room. He'd stripped out of his drowned hoodie-jean combo and switched it out for a grey knit long sleeve and a fresh pair of underwear. He was beginning to get impatient, as the sun had dipped below the horizon over thirty minutes ago.

Just as he started to consider scouring the ocean floor for his wayward brother, said fish walked through the door silently, as if Orm was meant to be asleep instead of agonizing over him.

Orm sat in the dark, waiting for the other shoe to drop as Arthur unsuccessfully attempted to navigate his cluttered room blind. He knocked a few things over in his search before finally reaching the side of the bed.

Orm switched on the lamp and Arthur doubled back as Orm greeted him with an unimpressed brow.

“Did you just let me struggle for no reason?”

Orm sat up with his legs crossed and pretended to consider it, “I believe the reason was to be petty.”

Arthur cracked a smile before his features softened under Orm’s gaze. They watched each other over a tense, stretched out period in time until Arthur abruptly plunged them back into blackness with a click of a switch.

Orm dropped his head, panic surfing up his gut. Arthur couldn't even look at him now. He didn’t think it’d be so bad that Arthur suddenly couldn’t stand to be around him. He raked his fingers from the back of his skull forward to cover his face. Everything was falling apart for the second time; he thought, distantly, that he’d never survive it.

Arthur spoke, softer than he had any right to be, “Sorry, I sleep with the window open.”

Orm looked up through his fingers as Arthur pulled the curtains back and let the moonlight soak the floor. The salted air met his skin and he felt invigorated with it, alive.

Arthur caught sight of the room and smiled, and somehow it was brighter than normal in this light, “You cleaned up?”

Orm followed his gaze to the neatly stacked piles of cleaned clothes finally opening up the floor that likely hadn’t seen the light of day in ages. He shrugged like it was no big deal, “You kept me waiting.”

Arthur shook his head before tucking his hair behind his ears and Orm was a little struck by it. Arthur was still shirtless, soaked waist-down but drying like a heater, and he wasn’t even showing off. He really just walked around like that, a bottled Adonis hunched into himself like he had nothing to boast about. He was a burning sun with a humbled inferiority complex tucked between his ribs. Orm had to ignore the twitch at the back of his skull telling him that it was because of Atlantis and the echoing conviction that Arthur was the bastard son no one wanted.

“Wasn’t planning to. Got sidetracked.”

Orm waved it off as he dropped his legs over the side of the bed, full-frontal facing the moonlit king he had to get through to to get back to, “I know my past doesn’t suggest so, but I won’t hold it against you.”

He dug his knuckles into the bed next to his thighs, shoulders coming up in an attempt to shield himself. He knew Arthur wasn’t on the same page as him, maybe not even in the same book at this point, but he wouldn’t let them ignore it. He wouldn’t let Arthur feel unwanted ever again.

He looked up just as Arthur moved forward, and he lost every ounce of confidence he’d been collecting when Arthur said, “I don’t really know your past, though, do I?”

Then it was flipped, that intimidating stare as he stalked forward slipped as he dropped to a squat at Orm’s parted knees. Once again he made himself small, letting Orm lean over him like he had a foot over the king’s throat.

Orm wanted to pull him up, just to be equal, but Arthur had something heavy settling on his shoulders, and he had the distinct hunch he couldn’t lift them both. Instead of jumping to level the field, he sank too, back bending to let his elbows dent his thighs. If he could, he was attempting to take half the weight.

Arthur fixed him with a look that made him want to spill his heart, so he did, “You know what you need to, brother. I was raised with hate and vengeance, raised to kill you. I have nothing else left.”

Arthur dipped his head, seemingly ripped through, but then he came back up with his teeth out, “That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”

Orm leaned back on his palms, begging Arthur to mimic his move and tip forward, “Didn't mean it ‘til now.”

Arthur didn't take the invitation, instead opting to dig his fingers into his own thighs before pulling away. Orm wasn't going to force his hand, but he hoped they could make some hedgeway before the sun was up.

Arthur did the unexpected, seemingly unwilling to beat around the bush any longer, just the same as Orm, “Now is the worst time for you to mean it.”

Orm tilted his head and pulled an innocent facáde, “Because it's too late, or because your morality would condemn you for it?”

Arthur gave him a look like he already knew the answer, and Orm did, but he needed to get his point across. He also kind of wanted to hear Arthur say it.

Just as he thought it, Arthur dredged himself up from the ground and effectively locked Orm between his chest and the mattress.There was very little wiggle room between Arthur's locked elbows and the silk-sunken fingertips anchoring them in place. Orm was trapped on his forearms with his neck bent back to meet his king's eyes. This was the first time he'd felt Arthur abuse his mantle properly.

Arthur whispered between his teeth, nose to nose and practically vibrating with the effort to hold them still, “You gonna make me say it?”

Orm tipped his head just enough so that Arthur's forehead would graze his own, “I'd appreciate the clarity.”

Arthur gave him fearless teeth before the mask fell away, leaving behind a drowning man and his compulsion to be good. Orm didn't want to ruin his core, no matter how demanding the pull in his chest became. He never wanted to be the one that put Arthur on his knees, begging for a way out.

Before Arthur could answer his request, Orm placed a hand in the middle of Arthur's chest and put some space between them, “Don’t feel obligated to me. I'll be here no matter what.”

Arthur shook his head and gripped Orm’s fingers where they were pressing white marks into his skin, “That's why I'm here, doing something I'm not supposed to.”

“You haven't done anything to regret yet.”

Arthur froze him in place with bright green eyes, “There is nothing here to regret.”

Orm felt it, that solar flare ripping through his skin and lighting him up from the inside. Arthur was right here, with him in the way he wanted him to be. Orm wanted it all, he wanted to push them there, up to the edge and over it. He wanted to sink with Arthur, six feet under.

Arthur must have seen it, maybe even felt it, the conviction rolling off him in an electric surge. It must have felt like thunder in his hands, because a guttural growl slipped between his teeth and struck Orm in the gut.

Then Orm was awake, suddenly aware of the spell they’d been caught in. Arthur wasn’t confident in this thing between them, wasn’t ready for it, and Orm wasn’t going to make him be. Orm snapped the tension by bringing Arthur in by the back of his neck and shoving his face into the space above his clavicle.

Arthur reactively wrapped his hands around Orm’s back, but Orm spoke up before Arthur got the wrong idea, “Let’s get some sleep.”

Arthur’s angst drained out as he gently nodded against Orm’s cheek. Arthur moved away to change his clothes before tucking into the covers with him. They let the sound of the ocean lull them to sleep.

-

Orm woke to a fire burning bright yellow against his back. He idly wondered how global warming had caught up to them so quickly before the fire blossomed against his neck in a huff of air. The stimuli being applied to the rest of his body finally started processing as he surfaced from his bleary, wading state.

That warmth was wrapped around him in every way. A lick of it climbed from behind his waist to his front, spreading at the end to brand the center of his torso. It clicked quickly enough that the stripe of heat was Arthur’s arm, easily adhering his back to the front of his king’s chest. The heat between his calves solidified as Arthur’s hooked leg, locking him in a second time over.

Arthur had come to bed in a pair of black boxers and nothing else, and Orm could feel why: the man was his own personal burning star. Even Orm was starting to become sensitive to the warmth but Arthur’s thigh was high up between Orm’s legs, snug up against Orm’s ass and leaving no room for escape.

He looked down, just to see if it was real, and damn did they look good wrapped up together.

He moved just slightly so that he could trace a finger down Arthur's painted forearm, following the black lines like a map. Before he reached the elbow, Arthur stirred, dragging his hand down to hook over the jut of his hip and burning him through to the bone.

Orm stopped moving entirely, attempting to maintain a facáde of sleep just in case this closeness was somehow a misstep and barreling them towards collision way too quickly.

That insecurity was plucked from his head as Arthur hummed behind his ear and moved again. His brother brought his fingers back around front and splayed them out like a starfish flat on his lower stomach, right between his hips. Then he tugged, very gently, just to get his intent across.

Orm couldn't help the huff that got forced out of him at the movement, and Arthur hummed again in response. The sound vibrated the spot on his neck behind his ear and this was moving way too fast for Arthur to be half asleep.

He didn't break them apart, because he was selfish and wanted this way too badly, but he managed to warningly say, “Arthur.”

His voice was the catalyst, he supposed, because then Arthur kept moving, first bringing his hand back up his chest underneath his shirt and then down his thigh and back around. He couldn't do anything other than lay there in shock at being petted so reverently.

Orm didn't need to question it again, because the soft, husky voice in his ear reassured him, “I'm awake. It’s okay.”

As he said that, his hand was back on Orm's lower stomach, holding him in place so Arthur could move against him. Orm turned his head towards the man and preened, totally involuntarily, and his brother snapped with it.

Arthur downright growled before unsticking his heated skin from Orm's backside and pushing Orm down into the covers with him straddled on top.

Orm was disoriented for a second before Arthur settled on his pelvis, looking down at him like he was something special to see. Orm thought that was ironic.

The morning sun soaked his king's skin in hot amber light, perfectly showcasing every chiseled feature and highlighting the artwork painting his body. Orm instinctively reached out and traced it, following a line from his pectoral to the dip of his pelvis, and pulling away. Orm looked up from his trance just to catch Arthur looking back.

Arthur had a soft smile when he said, “I like it when you wear my clothes. You look good in a henley.”

Arthur then unbuttoned the two at the top of the neckline and stuck his fingers in the open space, lightly dragging them from his clavicle to his jaw. Then both hands were there, cupping Orm's face and holding his attention forward.

He had no choice but to look into Arthur's searching eyes as the man said, “You okay with this?”

Orm wrapped a hand around the back of Arthur's shoulder and pulled him in, to answer without answering, “Are you?”

Arthur smiled and followed his pull, just far enough so that their lips ghosted against each other when he whispered, “Yeah, I'm good. I want you, I don’t care anymore.”

Orm nodded because there was something intimidating and nameless holding his voice back and then Arthur was there, slotting into place like he was made to. They drowned with the absolution of it, the idea of their bodies perfectly fitting together, born that way.

Arthur lightly moaned into his mouth and Orm was shaking apart with it. He'd never felt this way, never felt this pull. He wanted to say it was his crown that held him back before, his fear of getting attached and turning fragile, but something told him this was all Arthur.

Orm brought his fingers up the back of Arthur's neck, gripping onto the base of his flowing mane, and Arthur melted from it, completely soaking into him. Orm lifted his hips, just to dig his erection into Arthur's hip, and the pressure of it forced Arthur to pull away and huff into his neckline.

Then Arthur shot up and split them apart, planting his ass over Orm's crotch and pulling a groan from the depths of his brother's stomach.

Orm snapped his fingers to Arthur's hips before he could move his ass around anymore, because if he did, Orm would come apart. Arthur was quick to understand and shoved his hands under Orm's shirt instead, urging it up and off his body. Orm let him pull it off and huffily laid back against the pillows, wiggling under the weight of his king.

Arthur was watching him with pink cheeks as he ran his fingers across Orm's bare chest, “You’re beautiful like this.”

He didn't have to clarify what 'this’ referred to as he ran his fingers through Orm's loose white hair hanging over his forehead and down his chest again. Orm dug his fingers into the hollows of Arthur's hips and ignored the blush spreading freely over his neck.

He decided to give it right back, “That's rich coming from you.”

He emphasized his meaning with a stare that tracked from Arthur's unruly brow down his tattooed chest and everything in between. Arthur was striking, in every way with no argument, and he acted like he was normal instead of a god among mortals.

Arthur brushed it off, like Orm knew he would, by dipping back down to capture his mouth again. Orm wasn't going to complain, but he'd make Arthur listen at some point.

The soft blue bubble they'd been drifting in shifted into something hot orange as Arthur ground his ass down against Orm's pelvis and vibrated with it. Orm could have fallen apart at the moan he swallowed down if Arthur wasn't just barely holding him together.

Orm kicked it up a notch, snaking his hand down Arthur's belly and pushing tight heat against the clothed erection he met. Arthur broke down, head tilting into Orm's neck and choking on air as the pressure got hotter. He got his wits about him quick enough as he moved from Orm's lap and got under his legs instead, making it so that they could line up right.

Unfortunately, he hadn't taken off his underwear in the process, but he looked so damn good straining against the fabric that Orm didn't have the heart to mention it.

Once he was settled, Arthur wrapped his fingers as well as he could around Orm's clothed dick and tugged, meeting his eye with a vicious smile. Orm preened against the weight, unabashedly, “Jesus, Arthur, you’re so damn warm-”

But Arthur was close then, shutting him up with a rough kiss as he tugged at Orm again, “Careful little brother, I wanna hear you, but I'm sure you wouldn't want someone else to.”

The thought was jarring until it was wiped from his head entirely by Arthur's deft grip. He pulled Orm free from the opening in his underwear and squeezed, heat fully engulfing every inch of his skin. Orm had to stick his mouth against Arthur's neck just to keep quiet.

Orm was panting as Arthur did the same to himself, easily wrapping them both into his wide palm and the feeling of Arthur against him like that was almost too much. They both reacted like fire, burning from the inside out and taking everything with them.

Then Arthur started to move his hips in tandem with his grip and Orm had to let the pressure out of his lungs in a huff, “Oh god...”

Arthur smiled against his lips before moving to the spot behind his ear and almost mewling, caught in the same wave, “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Orm ran his hand up Arthur's back to grip his hair again and the man came alive in his hold. He'd keep that information for later. Now though, he bit at Arthur's flexed jugular and moaned as Arthur's thumb brushed over their heads in an upstroke.

Arthur wanted to hear him, so he let him, “Do that again-”

And Arthur did, he took Orm's lips back again in a kiss as he got to work. The strokes were steady and tight, as if Arthur knew just the strings to pull to make him squirm. He hooked his fingers into Arthur's sides and held on tight as they got pulled under the riptide.

He was so close he was whimpering into Arthur's mouth and he couldn't stop himself from jutting his hips into the grip between them, haphazardly catapulting them towards the wire.

Arthur must have been right there too, because he pulled away just enough to whisper, “Come for me, baby.”

And Orm let the universe in his chest expand as he arched into his king's hold. They came apart together, breath mingling between them as they panted through their release.

Arthur collapsed against him like a crashing wave, every part of them ripped open and raw, and Orm wasn't even disgusted by the slick being squashed between them.

Arthur groaned though, seemingly less inclined to ignore it, “Shit… need'a shower.”

Orm plucked up his shirt from the pillow Arthur had tossed it on and rubbed them down gently when Arthur moved enough to let him.

Orm was smiling in a haze when his king looked up to catch his eye, “Maybe if you carry me.”

Arthur shook his head against Orm's chest and stuck his hands under Orm’s ass, “You're the same size as me, there's no way…”

His voice became quieter as he turned into Orm's searing skin. Orm decided it could wait, maybe they would take a dip later instead. For now though, he was content to run his fingers through Arthur's hair where it was arced around his head in a corona as his king drifted into a light doze.

 

That is, until someone barked up the stairs calling them down for breakfast. They instinctively flinched apart, until Arthur came to his his senses and got his hands back on Orm, possessively pulling them back together.

Orm's heartbeat was still a bit loud when Arthur settled back down on his chest. The man put his hand over it, calmingly, and said, “Don't worry, they won't know unless you want them to know.”

Orm was ran through, free falling, “So this isn't temporary.”

He didn't ask it because that was what he wanted, he asked it because that's what he thought it was. For Arthur, at least. He had no reason to believe this was something his king would commit to: a war criminal so unattached from his own world he wouldn't be able to leave the house by himself for a while.

That was insane to him, a king without a political pawn as his betrothed. It just wasn't logical, and barely even possible.

Arthur didn't get that though, if the drawn eyebrows and insecure gaze Orm got in return was telling enough.

Orm rushed to correct himself, “I just didn't think you'd want that. I don't know if I could be your mistress while you marry someone else, and the king should-”

Arthur cut him off, “Hi, I'm Arthur. Not sure if we've met before, but: I don't let anyone tell me what I'm supposed to do.”

Orm rolled his eyes and leaned back more heavily against the pillows, “Arthur, you can't just… I don't know, ignore tradition. There are politics to follow if you're going to have the throne.”

Arthur leaned up on his elbows where he was settled between Orm's parted legs, “Me being king in the first place has already broken tradition. I have no issue bending rules a second time.”

Orm reached out and ran the tips of his fingers down Arthur's jaw, “You're making a lot of brazen declarations at seven in the morning.”

He didn't think this would work, no matter how badly he wished it could, but he didn't feel like poking and prodding Arthur's conviction anymore.

Arthur dipped and kissed just above the waistband of his underwear, goading his blood to flow south, “I'm not gonna flip a switch when it hits midnight; you're stuck with me, baby.”

Orm hooked his legs over the tops of Arthur's shoulders and sent him a wicked smile, “Well, better make it worth my time then.”

Arthur wrapped his fingers over the front of his thighs and pulled him closer, nose digging into the front of his underwear, calling his bluff. Then he poked his fingers into the soft spots off his inner thighs and Orm openly cackled at the ceiling.

Arthur was deviously smiling up at him when Orm reached out to pull the man's hair, just to get him to stop fucking tickling him, until another knock came at the door.

They both froze again, Tom's voice hesitant as he mentioned, “Eggs are gettin’ cold, boys…”

Arthur bit the bullet and gruffly responded, breath sinking through the thin fabric of his briefs, “Be down in a bit.”

Orm's cheeks were on fire, looking at the picture they painted. Arthur didn't give him even a second to be unsteady before he leaned up and slotted their lips together with ease.

Orm pulled him closer with a hook on the back of his neck and they melted with it. Arthur pulled away to drop a few pecks between speaking, “Really. Shouldn't. Keep. Them. Waiting…”

Orm hummed and wrapped his legs around Arthur's hips, smirking when it ripped a groan from Arthur's throat.

Then there was a hand pressing him back down into the covers, forcing their lips apart. Arthur was careful when he said, “Let's shower. We have forever for this.”

Orm was stuck in headlights, hearing Arthur give out trust and commitment so easily. He nodded dumbly and let Arthur lead them to the bathroom without a glance back.

He didn't need to check, because Orm would always follow him.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a niggling plot bunny urging me to write a bar scene stuffed with jealousy and possessiveness... let me know lol. also constructive criticism is welcome, thank you for reading!


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